Perception
by Joshua Hurley
Summary: A collection of Horror Stories.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm on the first step…**

**Intro**

This is one I was told when I was very young. It's amusing if anything. It tells the story of a certain Lucy who loves her china doll. Until her china doll takes revenge for neglect…

The house was a fairly large semi detached house. It was late; around nine pm for a young girl of seven to return home. Being winter it was dark and raining. Lucy ran from the street up to the wooden door and rang the doorbell crying "Mum, Mum let me in." After a while the door creaked open and Lucy wondered into the long wooden hall lined with stairs.

"Lucy. Where have you been!" Mother yelled at Lucy. Far from being afraid of the old women with curly black hair and a long nose that balanced spectacles, Lucy simply replied,

"I was at school mummy. I was drawing. Look." Lucy rummaged in her bag and pulled out her sketchpad. Mother sighed put decided to humor the little girl. She took the sketchbook from her daughter's arms and opened it. The first drawing was of a china doll. Mother recognized it immediately. It was a very expensive doll that had been passed down through the family for years. It had been Mother's most beloved possession. Mother thumbed through the book and froze.

The next page had the same doll on it, but with a tiny chip on it's arm with a caption reading 1890. The one after that the doll had a long scratch on it's face. The caption read 1943. As mother looked through the book she notices as time went on the doll slowly got more abused and well, broken. Finally she got to the present. The doll was missing an eyeball and most of the hair had been torn out. She turned the page. The caption for this page was _Thursday_. The doll was no longer smiling. It was grimacing. It had a large kitchen knife in one hand and blood on it's dress. It was walking up a staircase. Mother was shocked,

"What made you draw these things? Why did you draw them, sweety?"

"She told me to." Lucy spoke distantly, almost painfully.

"Darling these are good drawings but they're horrible. I don't want you to draw them anymore. Draw nice things for mummy."

"Oh, Okay." said Lucy. She climbed the staircase into her bedroom. It was a small room with a bed and a closet. It was painted pink. On her bed lay the doll. It smiled up at her. She picked it up and admired it. It was her favorite. _Lucy. Sweet lucy. I love you._

"I love you too." said Lucy.

Mother was upset. The macabre image of the doll had been burned into her head. Why had she drawn such things? Were there more? There only seemed to be one solution: Get rid of the doll.

The following morning after lucy went to school Mother went into her bedroom. The doll lay motionless on the bed. Something was wrong. Instead of the smile that was usually on the dolls face there was a grimace of rage. The one eye was staring angrily at her. Mother felt her insides freeze. Then calmed herself. She would not let herself be beaten by a doll! She grabbed it and ran downstairs she went outside and threw it in the dustbin. She slammed the lid down and caught her breath.

Lucy came home late again. Mother was angry again "Lucy, where have you been."

"At school mummy. I drew some more pictures!"

"May I see them?"

"Yup!" Mother took the sketchbook from Lucy and opened it. There was a picture of the doll in a jail cell. The next picture showed the jail cell open.

"Why did you draw these pictures!" Mother shouted and grabbed Lucy.

"Why?!"

"Because she told me to. She showed me all about what happened to her. But she's coming. She says she'll take her revenge."

"When? When!"

"Tonight." Mother's world stopped. The clock on the wall seemed to slow down. Then she smiled and said "Don't worry. I'll protect you! No get to bed."

Lucy went into her room and turned off the light. She found her way to her bed and crawled inside. Then the voice came to her. The voice of a little girl. "Lucy. I'm coming tonight."

"Mummy will protect me."

"_Really…"_ A scream echoed through the house. Lucy jumped out of bed and ran down the stair. The door to the living room stood ajar. Lucy walked in. Mother was sitting on a sofa facing away from Lucy.

"Mummy?" Lucy walked towards Mother. Mother didn't move. Lucy walked around the sofa and screamed. Mother had a chip in her arm. One of her eyes had been torn out, as had her hair. Blood poured from a gash on her face. All the injuries the little doll had. Lucy ran to her bedroom and hid under the covers.

"Lucy, I'm back!" The little girl cackled with glee and Lucy whimpered.

"Lucy, I'm on the first step!" Lucy heard a creak from outside her room.

"Leave me alone." Cried Lucy. Tears gushed from her eyes.

"Lucy I'm on the second step!" _creak_. Lucy looked around. Where could she hide? The closet! Lucy got out of bed and climbed into the closet and locked it from the inside.

"Lucy I'm on the last step!" Lucy was breathing very quickly. Her eyes darted around. She couldn't see anything.

"Lucy I'm on the landing!." Lucy her footsteps and burst into fresh tears. She heard the door creak open.

"Lucy I'm in your bedroom!" The closet door started opening. The lock had broken! Lucy jumped out of the closet and ran to her bed.

"Lucy. I'm in your bed!" Lucy closed her eyes.

"Lucy, you're dead!"


	2. The Black Rose

**The Black Rose**

_Intro_

The black rose in another one of those stories you here on camp. It isn't terribly scary but it's slightly strange when you look at him from a different angle.

Scare Factor: 1/10

Matthew was pissed off. Once again he had been rejected by his co-workers and forced to sink so low in the business that he was now the laughing stock of his floor. He walked along a dingy town alleyway. He scurried through a labyrinth of alleys like a rat, trapped in a maze, finally he arrived at his tower block. A drop of rain fell on his nose and he ran inside. He crossed the ground floor into the lift on the other side of the stone room. When he was inside he selected the button that would transport him to the 30th floor. As the lift was on the 20th floor the lights went out. Matt cursed. These things always happened to him. The lift stopped. Was it him or had the temperature just fallen. When he exhaled a strange smoke escaped from his mouth. It floated up to the ceiling where it disappeared. He pressed the emergency button and then cursed. Of course the button wouldn't be working.

Suddenly the lift jolted and the lights came back on. Matt let out a sigh of relief. The lift stopped at his floor and opened. Matt rushed out and almost sprinted to his apartment. A grotty, run down two roomed slum featuring a bedroom and kitchenette. He walked into his bedroom which consisted of a bed and closet. However something was different today. A single flowerpot was on his bedside table. It was black with a white centre. A note lay beside it "_Dear Matt. I'm sorry to hear about you're cold. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Love Janet."_ Matt grinned. He made himself a snack and then went to bed.

That night he had a dream. A flash of images appeared before him. A young girl was playing with a doll. She then ripped the dolls head off and blood spilled onto the floor. The black rose turned into an old women who slit her wrist with a kitchen knife. A scarecrow came to life and smiled. Then went onto rip a young girl to shreds. A man lay in an iron maiden. He screamed and the iron maiden closed on him. Blood poured out of two holes at the bottom of the device. It then opened revealing the man's mangled body. The rose appeared again and then withered. Matt could hear screaming that was silenced.

"A murder?"

"yes. A young man has been killed. Strangled in his sleep!"

"Who?"

"A man named Matthew Janston." The two policemen sat in a dingy office at the Juniville Police Station. There was just one desk and two chairs. The walls were yellowing and peeling. One of the policemen, a short man with a brown mustache yawned.

"So what exactly happened?" he said.

Janet Yayle entered the tall apartment block. She always had distaste for the building. She crossed the quiet entry hall and went into the lift. She pressed the button which would take her to floor thirty. The double doors slid open and Janet walked into a long narrow corridor. She could here the drip-dripping of a burst pipe somewhere down the corridor. She went over to apartment number four hundred and found that it was unlocked. She went into the "kitchen" and wretched. There was a horrible smell, like vomit. She walked into the bathroom sighed. Matt was in bed, facing away from her sleeping. It was mid day! The flower he had bought him had withered. She went over to the window and opened the curtains, "Come on Matt," she said "get up." Matt didn't move. She went over to him and touched him. He was ice cold. She slowly put her hand on him and began to turn him over. Her insides froze when she saw his face. It was deep purple and wrinkled. His eyes were wide open and his mouth hung loose. His neck had black hand prints smothered on it. He stared strait at her and she passed out.

"Another one?"

"Yup. Another death."

Joseph walked up to the flower stand. It contained the most obscure types of flowers he had ever seen. There were green daisies and orange bluebells. But the flower that caught his eye was one of the strangest kind. A black rose. It stood tall and proud above all the other types. A woman came to him. She had long black hair and a short, stubby nose. She had wrinkles all over her face and her veins bulged on her hands.

"Anything I can help you with?" her voice was husky and quiet.

"Yeh," said Joe "how much are the black roses?"

"Hmm. Just fifty pence each."

"They are a strange specimen." He stared at the black rose. For some reason it attracted him more than anything he had ever seen.

"Yes they are. Would you like one?"

"Yes, yes I would." He gave the woman his money and took the flower away with him. That night he put it on his bedside table and drifted to sleep.

He woke up at midnight. He felt clammy and sweaty. He tried to sit up but he couldn't. He could only move his eyes which darted around the room. They rested on the black rose. Then they locked up. All he could do was stare at the rose.

Then it moved.

The rose twitched and started to move like a snake. The flower turned into a hand. Veins bulged in the hand and long black fingernails curled out of the skin. The stem turned into an arm. A horrible old arm that started moving towards Joe. He tried to move but he couldn't. All he could do was stare helplessly at the hand which moved towards his neck. It writhed and twisted as if in immense pain. It darted towards his neck and clenched around it. All Joe could do was lie and scream on the inside as the hand squashed the air out of him.

"I'm gonna stop this." A policeman called Alex June said this as he read the report. "I'll find the truth and stop it. What's the connection in the murders?"

"A black rose was found beside the bed."

"Does anybody no where it came from?"

"Yes a shop on Littleworth road."

"Okay I'll check it out."

Alex went up to the flower stand. A bunch of black roses were on sale for a quid. He started to move towards it but an old women stepped in his way.

"So you like the rose?" she said.

"Yes," said Alex, and he did. There was something strangely attractive about it.

"That will be one pound dear."

"Okay, here you go." She handed him the rose.

That night Alex prepared everything. He placed a kitchen knife in a on a piece of string that was attached to the rose. If the rose moved, so did the knife. Right down through the stem. He went to sleep.

He woke up. He felt clammy and slightly sick. He tried to sit up but he couldn't. The only thing he could move was his eyes. They moved and rested on the rose. It twitched. Then it transformed into an arm which then moved towards Alex. The trap triggered.

The knife plummeted down and sliced the arm in two. Thick black steaming liquid poured out of the wound and he could move. He got out of bed then and went to the flower shop with his knife.

He went up to the stall and found a bunch of black roses but something was different. All of the upper stems and flowers were missing. He saw a shadow and hid behind the store. The old women walked out. Missing her right arm.


End file.
